I feel the stress of my life flow out of my mind and onto the page.
With the pen gripped tightly in my fingers, I know that everything is all right.
The cramping in my fingers is the stress of my apocalyptic world being lift up off of my weak shoulders.
That is why I write. To feel myself come alive.
I don’t do drugs
I don’t drink
I don’t hurt myself

I write.

I write to be alive.

I write to feel better.

I write to cry.

I write to laugh.

I write because I can and no matter how bad it is, I wrote. That writing that is now stained on this page is forever burned into my history. I write. I have written. I wrote. My life is now calm.